


Death Isn't In My Vocabulary

by CrazedUtopia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, So go easy on me plz, So if that's not your thing leave, This definitely isn't canon, Very bloody in the beginning, leave feedback, sort of fantasy, there's magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-07-06 00:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15875040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazedUtopia/pseuds/CrazedUtopia
Summary: Angela finds a mortally wounded but mysterious man in the hallway of the newly reformed Overwatch, except this time she doesn't do the saving. The man seems to save himself from death through magical means. When she becomes very close with the man, she finds out secrets that could threaten the entire organization. So she must make a decision, risk her relationship with the man or save the organization.





	1. Situation Critical

Ever since Overwatch’s disbandment people using the front door was almost a thing of the past. They very rarely occurred, usually it was a group of agents returning exhausted from a weeks long mission. With the very miniscule amount of agents they currently had, meant longer mission times for simple missions. Missions that were usually days long back then, were now weeks or months. Tracer usually got the latter missions. But, sometimes the front door would be used by thugs looking to cause trouble. Which is how they recruited their most recent oppressors. 

So it surprised Angela when she heard the front door open, while walking back to the med bay. She could hear the rain splatter against the pavement near the entrance way, she could see a blue light further down the hallway, and an extremely tall shadow on the wall behind the entrance way. The blue light began to fade, as the entrance door slowly closed. But, before it did, Angela’s gaze caught the shadow slowly shrink in size, which meant that the person who was here was sitting. 

She knew the person wasn't an agent, for the person didn't have a recognizable height. So who was it? Another group of thugs? An explorer maybe? If the person was either of the two, Angela would have thought that they would be navigating the base. Angela’s heels clicked in the hallway, as she made her way towards the entrance. Something in her mind was telling her something wasn't right. Something was telling her that this person needed assistance desperately, which was why her pace quickened. Her heels echoed swiftly down the hallway. 

She was quite literally there, so close in fact she could hear the person’s deep labored breathing. But Angela hadn’t quite turned the corner just yet. A new layer of sweat coated her forehead, from nervousness or energy use, she bet on the former. Angela never felt this nervous when there was someone who needed her, why was she acting out now? She knew why, she just didn't want to accept it. She knew that there was a high chance that the person around this very corner would no longer walk this earth. 

She brushed that side, for now, she needed to get the person moving. She very hesitantly turned the corner, a very wobbly and unstable leg just barely balanced her out. But what she saw, was something that not even she could prepare herself for. The first thing set her gaze on was the pool of crimson red on the pavement and the small two step staircase. The second thing, (which she chose to ignore), was the blood trail beginning from the top of the wall, ending at the man’s head. Must’ve been from where he slid down the wall to sit and wait for himself to bleed out. The third was the man’s cold hard gaze on her. The man showed no pain at all, but judging from the way he was holding one of the many bullet holes on the right side of his stomach, Angela knew that behind that expression, was the face of the worst pain this man has ever felt. 

The man wore a quite casual orange hoodie, that was soaked from the rain, and stained with large crimson red dots. His gray sweats were cut, and in many places, blood began to pool and spread out in thin lines like fingers. Time seemed to freeze when she looked back into those cold, hard, and pained eyes. Eyes that were slowly losing their cold hard look, Eyes that told Angela alone how much tormenting agony he was in, while she just stood there and watched. He’s dying, and you’re not doing anything, aren’t you going to do something? Her mind was screaming at her, telling her to move, but her legs didn't move, stuck like they were glued to the ground. 

The man just looked up to the roof, confident that this is where he would die, he would die right here, in front of a pretty blue-eyed blonde who couldn’t or wouldn’t even move. But, the last painful and scared and worried look he gave Angela seemed to have melted the glue that stuck to her feet. She was able to move again, swiftly travelling down the stairs even in heels. Ignoring the slight splash each footstep made, and ignoring the blood that smeared on her white valkyrie suit, Angela hoisted the man off of the ground, with a grunt and a couple of pained moans from the man. She looked forward, a confident look plastered on her face, she was going to save this man from meeting his death, and she was going to do it as best as she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the first chapter. I hope it sounds better than it did.


	2. Questions with No Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being gone for so long. Internet was out for a bit. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

Possessing a sensitive stomach for blood is not a trait that doctors are supposed to possess, Angela was never sensitive to the metallic smelling, crimson colored liquid. But, each doctor had a limit to their tolerance, however, very rarely do doctors ever reach said limit. This went for Angela as well, and she was confident that she had reached her limit. The smell of blood was so distinct, she swore the entrance and the hallway would smell like iron over the course of the next few days. She felt a lump of bile abruptly violate her esophagus, and as grotesque as it sounds, she swallowed it down, but not without the taste of it lingering on her throat. 

The expression on her face soon melted down from confidence, to pure disgust over the situation. 

The man seemed to have taken notice, because to Angela’s surprise, the man began to laugh. But it wasn’t quite a laugh, it was a strange grunting and wheezing sound that made uncomfortableness scuttle across Angela’s body like spiders. The man was still making the sound as they very slowly maneuvered down the hallway. 

The weight on her left shoulder soon grew heavier, as the man fell down. He unlatched from Angela’s shoulder, choosing to lean his back up against the wall. Angela was on the verge of panic when the man held up his pointer finger. Did he want to die? Was he tired of walking?  
“Sir, we can’t afford any breaks, you’re bleeding out very quickly.” He didn’t respond, only tilted his head back in what she assumed pain. She tried to urge him by tugging on his soaked hoodie, but the man was anchored, and determined not to move. 

“Why are you not moving?” Her fingers were curled into fists, slight anger started to bubble against her chest. It was quite rare for a patient to be dying and not accept treatment, especially if they were bleeding out. A puddle of blood began to form around her feet, causing her to jump back slightly. To her complete amazement, the blood began to form what looked like a river delta. Long, skinny and crimson fingers reached toward her. She gasped, watching in horror as the fingers seemed to speed up. The man was sat on the wall still, head tipped back, and eyes closed, unconscious from the blood loss. 

Angela had her back against the wall when the blood suddenly stopped. She freezed, the sound of her labored breathing and her deafening heartbeat filled the silence. The blood delta seemed to freeze with her, completely unmoving. Angela hesitantly began to move forward, her feet felt like they took ages to connect with the floor. Once she reached the end of the fingertips, she very slowly knelt down next to it, and to her surprise, she was bold enough to touch it. 

She was expecting the vermilion substance to latch onto her index finger and stick, but when she drew her finger back and peered at it, there was nothing on it; only the soft skin of her index finger, there wasn't even any grease or oil on it. Then how was there blood on her valkyrie suit? She checked over suit once, twice, and three times for good measure, but the stains that were once there seemed to have completely vanished from thin air, and Angela supposed she should’ve noticed sooner. She blamed the sudden panic. 

She got up slowly, and backed herself against the wall once more, making sure absolutely no one was awake. She didn't need the pain of another person witnessing whatever the hell this was. In all of her years as working as a doctor, this was the first Angela had seen this. Hell, when she had rescued Genji, she had seen almost as much blood, but his didn’t thin and spread like reaching fingers. That’s what they were, skinny, reaching fingers that looked like something out of a horror movie. But, in the corner of her right eye, she saw movement. 

She pushed herself off of the wall, and investigated. The movement was not far, as it took place next to the entrance. She soon took notice that there was a sort of flowing water sound that she could hear just ahead. The sound grew louder as she approached, but what she saw made her eyes bulge out of their sockets. 

The blood that was once in a puddle in the entrance soon flowed like a river; to where, Angela did not know. She leisurely walked down the hall next to it, careful as to not step near it. What the hell is going on? She asked herself. She supposed the man would wake up and explain it to her. 

She could see a purple light glowing where the man sat, lighting up the hallway, allowing Angela to see. The light was almost too bright for her eyes to withstand, but she suffered through it anyway. Her mind was telling her she didn't need to worry about his health anymore, now she only cared about answering her current questions. 

The purple light wasn’t just a simple glow, no, it was a purple glass ball, just barely bigger than that of a baseball, with a rectangle shaped piece of wood that surrounded the middle section of it that rotated endlessly above the man’s unconscious body. 

Angela once again planted herself against the wall, hands grabbing onto whatever she could find. Her instincts were telling her to run, run, and stay the hell away from this hallway for a very long period of time, but her legs didn’t move. She couldn’t move, her curiosity wouldn’t let her. She didn’t know what to do, so she did the only thing she could do in this current ordeal. 

Angela followed the blood with bulging eyes and a gaping mouth as the blood rose into the glass ball. The purple light soon dimmed, relieving Angela’s suffering eyes, allowing her to relax slightly. The ball, now full of blood, continued rotating, as if it was waiting, waiting for something Angela didn't know. 

She very slowly began to walk toward the rotating object, her curiosity controlling her movements. 

The silence annoyed her, an occurrence like this did not deserve silence. It deserved more noise, and sounds of amazement from a crowd as they watched a seemingly lifeless substance rise in a glowing, glass ball floating above an unconscious man’s body. Angela could picture it in her mind, a crowd of millions sitting in the bleachers, all there to watch a man’s blood move and flow. There would be newscasters there as well, wanting to capture the seemingly impossible event for the people who could not attend the event. The picture almost made her laugh, almost, if not for the shocking things she had seen in just one night. Things that would be carved into her brain like a tombstone for the rest of her life. 

The ball, she noticed, stopped glowing and rotating, as if it had just stopped performing maintenance on the man’s blood. The ball descended so it was just above the man’s stomach, rotated up, and opened itself, releasing the blood. 

To Angela’s horror, the blood shot out as if it was a blooming flower. The substance no longer looked red in the darkness, but like darting shadows shooting and jerking around the man’s body at incredible speeds. Angela stepped back, and watched the dark light show take place before her. Her head began to swim with questions, all of which she had no answers to. 

The scene before Angela completely terrified her because it shouldn’t have been possible. Blood doesn’t control its movements, it’s not a life force, it only goes down a very slight slope. Yes, but why was it moving now? She wished she knew the answer, but the unconscious man before her was the only one who knew it. 

The blood soon started to insert itself into the man’s body through the wounds that the man possessed. That same expression of bewilderment that Angela had plastered on her face seemed to become more distinct.

As the blood continued to re-enter the man’s body, his clothes and skin seemed to return to their natural color. 

No longer, were his clothes torn and soaked with rain, sweat, and blood, his hoodie returned to its original bright orange, his gray sweats returned to their usual color. No longer was his skin covered in dirt and dried blood. His goatee was no longer ragged and littered with beads of water. The wounds that were once scattered across his body, were soon closed, and something Angela had failed to notice earlier were his shoes, a simple pair of orange and white sneakers that matched well with the rest of his outfit. 

The fear that she once had soon died down a bit, but her heart still hammered in her chest and adrenaline still coursed through her veins. 

The man still sat unconscious, but didn’t look as troubled as he once did. The furrowed brow and wrinkled forehead soon smoothed out, his frown soon replaced by a warm relieved smile. Angela supposed she should be too, and she was, but the she still had questions that needed to be answered. 

She put them aside for now, and simply waited patiently for the man to awake. She hoped that her interaction with the man wouldn’t leave more questions than answers, that’s what she feared the most. The fear of the team discovering this man took top priority though, she would need to tell Winston eventually, but not now. The man needed to answer her questions first. She knew it sounded selfish, but she didn’t care. She went through too much horror in one night for her to care about selfishness. 

 

It took about 30 minutes for the man to awake, and when he did, he rose to his full height and stretched, his hands just narrowly missing the ceiling. Joints cracked and popped, and he groaned as relief flooded his limbs. He let his arms dangle to the side, as he surveyed the area he was currently in. 

He was in a slightly narrow hallway, the walls surrounding him had yellow and black stripes running parallel about an inch apart from each other, with white in the background. To the normal eye, the room would be almost pitch black if it wasn’t for the dim light above. For the man, though, he could see very explicitly. His trained eyes continued to survey the area, not noticing the woman that currently slept behind him. 

He decided to explore for a bit, not very far, only far enough to find out where he was. It didn’t take long before he found something familiar. 

A wide, two-step, metal staircase that met a pavement ground with an extensive and tall, white, slide-up door soon caused a scene to play in his vision. 

The man watched himself enter through the slide-up door, and instantly crash against the wall, sliding down with his hand pressed against the lower right part of his abdomen. Blood soon pooled and created a puddle beneath him. His breathing was labored and he watched as a woman with blue eyes and blonde hair clad in what looked like a silk, white suit that hugged the woman’s curves wonderfully, and a long drape that hung between her legs, soon stared back at his cold but pleading look. That’s when the vision ended. 

Shit, this place must’ve been where he ended up after that bloody encounter. The encounter with whom, he didn’t know. 

He wasn’t worried about that now, he needed to find that woman. 

When he returned back to where he first awoke, he almost laughed at his obliviousness. He hadn’t noticed the woman sat down with her back against the wall, snoring softly. 

At first he just stared, watched as the woman’s chest ascended and descended slowly with each deep breath. She looked peaceful, and the man didn’t want to stop it. The woman looked quite like an angel, the halo on her head emphasizing that. 

For a good 15 minutes he just watched, didn’t want to interrupt her sleep. Her peacefulness. But, after that, he figured the woman would just chastise him for not waking her sooner. 

He gently grasped her slender shoulder, and lightly shook the woman; causing her to stir. Her brow furrowed, and her frown deepened, her breathing became labored, she jerked and twitched as her night terrors began to control her. He shook her again, but this time it was harder, causing the woman’s eyes to immediately widen and stare back into his purple orbs. 

The man was expecting her to scream, but it never came. Instead, her shoulders softened, her eyes relaxed, and her posture loosened. The man soon stood, and waited for her to follow, which she did. 

He began walking forward, ignoring the woman’s calls, “Hey!” He could hear her heels click behind him, making him groan and turn towards her. He really didn’t want to deal with this. He knew she had questions, ones he didn’t want to answer. He still acknowledged her anyway. 

She began with, “What is your name?” He responded coolly, “Gideon, Gideon Price. I don’t usually tell people my last name, but you’re cute.” His voice was deep and round. The woman blushed, clearly flustered, “Uh, okay, thanks.” 

They walked in a sort of awkward silence for a short time, not knowing what to say. 

Gideon cleared his throat, “What’s yours?” He asked gently, he didn’t want to scare the woman off. 

“Angela, Doctor Angela Ziegler.” Gideon’s expression didn’t change, “Ah, so you’re a doctor then? Are you taking me to your medical bay?” 

He asked innocently. Angela nodded, “Yes, that is where I will begin further questioning you.” His eyes narrowed, “Yeah? Why not here? Why does it have to be in there?” 

“It’s private, and I have a lot of questions.” That got him thinking. 

What had she seen to have so many? Perhaps it was his healing process, she was a doctor after all. 

A few more minutes of walking and eventually, they ended up in the medical bay. Gideon waited patiently for Angela to open the door. She swiped what looked like an ID card over a scanner, and after a few seconds, the scanner lit up green, unlocking the door. He followed her inside. 

The room he entered was like nothing he had ever seen before, two medical beds sat four inches apart from each other, a curtain was drawn between the two. The color in the room was a warm orange, with no light from the fluorescent lights. A chair sat across from the beds, and an office was sat in the back left of the room. The room smelled of sweet flowers and air freshener, which influenced Gideon to sit on the right medical bed. He sighed, feeling relieved before he spoke, “What do you want to know?” 

Angela grinned, “Okay, we’ll start off with what the hell happened just 45 minutes ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad cliffhanger?


	3. Interesting Conversations and Good Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry for the delay. I wanted to make this chapter a little longer than the last one, so that's part of the reason why it's taken so long. I also got rid of some of the junk chapters. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this extra long third chapter.

Questions never caught Gideon off guard, hell he didn’t think anything could catch him off guard. He’d had countless decades of training in combat, in strategy, a simple question wasn’t enough to make him feel uncomfortable. Although, when it came to his healing process he didn’t know how to answer those questions. So, he gave the same nonchalant shrug and response he usually gave, “Magic.” That was the truth, because in reality, he knew what triggered what, but he didn’t know why him, out of all people, had this power. It kept him alive though, and that’s all he cared about.

Angela furrowed her brow in confusion, “Magic?” She inquired. “Yeah, that’s really the only explanation. I know how it works, it just uses magic to function.” Gideon’s deep voice for some reason made Angela severely uncomfortable. His voice was a mix between deep and tired, which didn’t make her feel quite right. 

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, now that there was someone in the med bay she felt that the smell was too sweet, even though her nostrils were still filled with the smell of iron, thought the sunlight from the window was too bright, even though the sun was just starting to peak its head. The silence in the air hung a little too long, and it was Gideon who broke it by clearing his throat, “What else?” He said bluntly. Angela breathed, “I find it hard to believe that it’s magic.” 

Gideon snapped his fingers, the same glass ball that Angela saw earlier appeared to be floating in his hands. “If you saw my process then you probably saw this thing,” Angela nodded, “what this does is cleanse my blood and then releases it back into my being and heals my wounds.” He shifted himself closer to Angela, “Only problem is, I have to be unconscious for it to occur.” Angela nodded along the way, she still had no idea how it occurs, but at least he gave her some insight that she could work with. 

His bright, purple eyes locked with Angela’s blue ones. He held out the glass ball for her to hold it; she obliged. 

The glass on the ball was clean and smooth. The glass was transparent and clear, allowing Angela so see Gideon’s eyes when she held it up to hers. the sunlight reflected brilliantly off of the glass. The wood was rectangular shaped and flat against the glass, wrapping around the center of it. The wood shined in the sunlight and it looked like it was brand new, and It was quite smooth to the touch, almost as smooth as silk. 

Gideon gently removed it from her hands with a nod, and in the same moment, the ball disappeared like it was never there in the first place. Her hands, for some reason, tingled after the ball had escaped her grasp. She tried to shake them to relieve the tingle, but it remained. Luckily, it didn’t impair her ability to use them. 

Her next few questions would require her clipboard, so without wasting any time, she busied herself with searching for her papers. The clipboard was found just to the right of her computer in her office in the back left corner, lined paper was found in a small, wooden cupboard that split the 4 chairs that sat in front of the medical beds in half. She clipped the paper on her board, wrote Gideon’s name down, and asked her first noteworthy question “Can you use this ‘procedure’ on any individual other than yourself?” Gideon moved forward, resting his elbow on his knee. He began to rub his bearded chin. He inhaled while straightening his posture, “Well,” he breathed out, “Never tried it before, but it might be possible. When I first got the thing it pinched my skin hard enough to draw blood, and the next thing I knew, I woke up on a mountain somewhere in Shanghai.” Angela had been writing down all of this with the pen she found in between the space of the actual clip. 

She tapped her chin with the back of the pen, the smell of blood still overflowing her nostrils and overpowering the sweet smell in the room. “Where were you before the that?” She asked. “I was, uh, in Utah trying to meet up with an old friend of mine.” Something was telling her he was lying, but the look he gave her after didn’t suggest that, either he’s quite the good liar, even better than Jack Morrison, or her instincts were wrong. Instead of pressing the matter, she wrote it down on her paper, but put in parentheses next to it, ‘possible lie.’

The tingle in her hands began to subside. 

She pushed for more information, “When I first saw you, you looked like you had gotten into a gunfight. Who shot you?” He hummed. Angela didn’t know if that was the right question, his ‘procedure’ could wipe his memory of trauma, but it was never bad to make sure. “I don’t know, the person or people, shot me from behind, the cowards.” He looked absolutely disgusted.

She dropped the pen on her clipboard, and pressed the board against her stomach so she wouldn’t lose it. She sighed, she felt absolutely exhausted. Her eyelids felt as if heavy weights were pressing them down, her legs felt stiff and heavy, and she almost nodded off right there in front of Gideon, but he shook her back awake. “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s embarrassing, I am so sorry.” He nodded, “That’s alright, Angela. I can’t blame you after what you just saw. Why don’t you rest right here?” He walked over to the other medical bed and patted it down. Angela felt an almost unbearable urge to crawl in the bed, but she couldn’t trust Gideon not to leave while she slept soundly. “No worries, doc. I won’t leave, I don’t have any other place to go,” He said, as if he had read her mind. Perhaps he had, she didn’t care though. it was a weak reassurance, but it was enough for Angela’s tired mind.

She crawled into the medical bed, and before she shut her eyes and let sleep take her, she felt a warm blanket wrap around her, and she fell asleep with a warm, comfortable smile. 

While she slept, Gideon remained in the medical bed next to her, the curtain withdrawn so she was always within an arm’s length . He didn’t know why, but he felt like he recognized this woman somewhere. Yes, the more he thought about it, the more it edged on the tip of his mind. He looked around for anything that could remind him. That was when he noticed a nameplate that sat on the back of the wooden desk in the left corner.

‘Angela Ziegler’, it read in big, silver letters, contrasting from the black that surrounded the letters. The wood border looked clean and quite similar to his glass ball. 

The name flickered a memory from many years ago. it was when he sat back in his safe house, watching television on a non-traceable cable connection. He quite liked to watch the morning news and speeches about politics. It was usually more of a background noise while he woke himself up for the events planned for the day. 

Like many mornings, he had gotten up a little earlier than he had anticipated, running on a little less than 2 hours of sleep. He wasn’t tired though, since he was quite used to sleep deprivation, hell, he didn’t even know the last time he had gotten 4 hours, since his instincts were constantly on edge, not allowing him to sleep long in case there was an unwanted guest to take care of. On this specific morning, he turned on the T.V. only to be met with a smiling blonde in a lab coat with a black sweater that had a thick collar that wrapped around her neck beneath the coat. The woman still had a smile on her face when she spoke, “My name is Doctor Angela Ziegler, I am considered one of the world’s best doctors, and I am proud to say I work for an organization like Overwatch.” He set down his black coffee on the kitchen counter, listening intently. 

That was when the vision ended, in present time, Gideon breathed, Overwatch, huh? This oughta be good. He thought to himself. 

He checked the digital clock beside him, 8:37, it read. The sun brightly lit the room with warm, orange, colors, his nostrils still hadn’t grown accustomed to the overwhelming smell of flowers yet, something that didn’t really bother him, but at the same time it did. Just like the idea at being at Overwatch didn’t quite bother him, but did concern him simultaneously. Great, a paradox within my own mind, he thought. 

He sighed putting his hands behind his head as he leaned back against the pillow, allowing a relieved groan to escape his lips. He had no intention of sleeping, anyone could walk through that door and he had to be ready. He closed his eyes, letting his almost non-existent emotions relax. Questions rang through his head, but to him, the most important one was, isn’t this where I’m supposed to be confused? In truth, he wasn’t. 

Confusion was something he experienced very seldomly, and panic he felt even less than the former. He always kept his emotions under control, since when they were expressed any person with common sense could read what you were thinking and feeling, and that was a good way to back yourself into a corner. Gideon didn’t like being cornered, so he forced his emotions behind a brick wall in his mind. The only time he would even smile was when he would cut down his opponent with his sword or watch someone’s brain matter splatter all over the wall as he sniped them from afar. Even thinking about it almost brought a grin on his face. 

He quelled it swiftly, even though there were no people in the room. This was Overwatch, though, so he had to be careful when thinking thoughts like that. 

An agent could come in any minute now for a check-up with Angela, and end up with their limbs on the floor from a seemingly unknown explosion. The grin feeling returned, but Gideon embraced it this time, letting it stretch to his ears. 

He almost chuckled, but when he heard footsteps approaching, he shot up from the bed, shaking it slightly. He waited patiently, allowing his combat instincts to take control. A feral snarl was present on his face as he waited. The sound of the footsteps sounded close, but Gideon knew they were still a good 45 yards down the hallway. To his ears, they were quite loud, but to the common man’s ear, the hallway was still quiet. But, Gideon was no ordinary man. His instincts and senses were all cranked up to 210. 

The steps continued to approach, making loud click clack sounds. Mixed in were quieter jingling sounds. Spurs, Gideon thought, cowboy boots. He had met a few cowboys before, and usually ended up with their blood on his hands. He knew that no one else would be wearing seemingly unfashionable footwear, so Gideon knew the person must’ve been some form of gunslinger. 

he was slowly moving towards the right side of the door, since the knob was on the right, he would be able to get a good clean hit without having to wait and increase the risk of being seen. The footsteps were now almost deafening to Gideon, signaling that the gunslinger was right outside of the door. 

The footsteps stopped, and for a moment, everything was silent except for the ticking of the seconds Gideon’s mind kept track of. He heard the man’s arm sleeve crinkle with his movement, influencing Gideon to ready his fist. He would only apply enough force to knock the man unconscious, he still had nowhere else to go, and he wouldn’t want to lose his only option of hospitality by killing one of their agents. 

The door knob turned, and the door opened, “Hey Ang-,” before the man could even finish his sentence, Gideon’s fist connected with the center of his cheek, knocking him to the ground face-first. The bruise was already starting to form. The man didn’t continue to move, unconscious from the force of the punch. Luckily, the man didn't break anything in the room, which was an almost impressive feat, considering the man’s height. 

Gideon knelt down by his knees and turned him on his back. He was surprised the man hadn’t busted a hole in his skull, considering the fall. He estimated his height to be at least 6 feet, his face was quite dark and tan, his mouth was ajar from the punch. He had a thick, brown goatee reaching all the way up to his sideburns. His forehead was smoothed out, and his eyebrows were a thin brown. Gideon removed the cowboy hat from his head, letting his brown hair fall to the sides of his head. The man’s hair was quite scruffy, sticking out from the bottom sides since his hat kept the hair on the top of his head flat. A red poncho was wrapped around the gunslinger’s neck, adding to his overall cowboy look. A brown, long sleeve shirt was wrapped tightly around his arms, revealing his muscular biceps. He was wearing armor plates on his chest and stomach, tubes reaching from his back, to his sides, and to his front. His right hand had a dusty glove donned, and his left was a metal-looking prosthetic with blue lights on the sides. He wore a belt that read BAMF in seemingly gold letters. Flashbangs were strapped on his left hip Gideon realized, his six-shooter was holstered on his right hip. Right handed, I suppose, Gideon thought. Bullet casings were right under his belt and wrapped around his hat. A long, dusty, brown armor plate covered his pants that were the same color as the pants themselves. His cowboy boots were dusty and worn, but the spurs on the back of them looked brand new. 

Gideon sighed, and lifted the unconscious body onto the medical bed with incredible ease. He checked the time, 1:27 pm. Huh, he could’ve sworn the last time he checked it it was 8:00. Time flies when you’re having fun, he supposed. 

Now with the man settled on the medical bed Gideon was sitting on, Gideon had to resort to the chair closest to the wooden drawer that was next to the door on the left. He sat down with a quiet groan, the punch seemed to have already wore him out. That’s how it usually went, running on low amounts of sleep left him susceptible to tiredness after the adrenaline has worn off from a battle. Mix that with the high endorphins his brain produces when he gets to endlessly cause harm to another, and you get one exhausted Gideon. 

He closed his eyes, and he fell asleep with the overwhelming smell of flowers rudely violating Gideon’s nostrils.

There were two things you didn’t do to a trained assassin. The first, cornering him, although an effective strategy at times, could get you killed before you could even blink. The second, shaking them awake when they’re in an unfamiliar territory. This one is quite uncommon, but assassins must sleep, too, be it quite infrequently, but an assassin slept whenever he could, and if he had to sleep in a strange place, then that’s what he did. 

Gideon was sleeping quiet peacefully, when he felt long, delicate fingers wrap around his shoulders and began shaking him gently. His whole body jumped, and Angela felt Gideon’s fist brush against her nose as she barely dodged. His upper lip was pulled back in a snarl as he growled like a feral animal. He leaned forward in his chair, a scowl present on his face, purple eyes were turned to a cold, icy blue with the intent to kill, and seemingly ready to leap at Angela when he first realized his mistake. 

The scowl on his face relaxed, his icy, cold eyes returned to their deep, beautiful purple and softened. He remained on the edge of the seat, though, which prompted Angela not to get too close. 

Her breath was still shaky when she spoke, “Um, good morning?” At first she forgot why she had woke him up in the first place, but when she saw Gideon look towards the digital clock on the wooden stand next to an unconscious Mccree, it reminded her. “Is there a reason there’s an unconscious agent with a bruise on the left side of his face?” His gaze returned to hers. He shifted uncomfortably, “Sorry about that,” he said, “Instincts just kind of kicked in.” 

She sighed, and rubbed her forehead in irritation while looking down at the floor in disappointment. “Am I allowed to know his name?” He inquired curiously. “Jesse Mccree,” she said without looking up. 

Jesse Mccree, he’s heard that name before, when he was in an alliance with the Deadlock gang, he heard Ashe say something about Mccree. She had tried to mutter it under her breath, but Gideon’s hearing wouldn’t let that go unheard. They were discussing what their last member did for the gang and how he left. She had muttered that she had missed him, and how she still kept a picture of the two on the speedometer of her bike. He decided not to push the matter, bothering people about personal things is a good way to get yourself on someone’s bad side. Gideon and Ashe had developed a close business relationship, though, but never a personal one. Gideon was the only person Ashe really feared. 

A low, pained groan knocked Gideon from his thoughts. He lifted his head, watching as the gunslinger soon re-entered reality. A large, black and blue bruise formed on the left side of his face, making Gideon involuntarily grin. He shouldn’t be happy, he really shouldn’t, but he is, and no one can stop him. 

Mccree sat up with a groan while simultaneously rubbing his head. He accidentally touched his eye, making him hiss and jerk his hand away like his face was on fire. “What the hell is goin’ on?” The man had sounded three times his age, and if Gideon hadn’t already saw his face, he would’ve mistaken Mccree for an eighty-year-old man.

Angela was by his side in a matter of seconds with an ice pack, “You’re in the medical bay, this’ll sting.” She gently pressed the ice pack to his eye, he inhaled sharply. “Hold that there. This will reduce the swelling,” She retrieved her clipboard, flipped to the next blank page, and grabbed her pen. She started by writing down Mccree’s name. He answered multiple questions regarding his vision, all of which he denied with a sleepy voice. His eye was swollen to the point where he couldn’t see out of it anymore. “Who did this?” He said, voice slowly warming. He pointed to his eye with his prosthetic. Gideon stood, causing the man to shift his gaze from Angela to him, “I did. I heard you coming down the hall and my instincts kind of kicked in. You opened the door, and I might’ve punched you right in your face.” 

Gideon was expecting anger, but anger did not come. Instead, his eyebrows curled upwards, and he started scrambling to get as far away from Gideon as he could. His legs were kicking out sporadically under the covers of the medical bed, his neatly folded clothes fell from the edge of the bed. 

Angela almost looked terrified, she hadn’t seen Mccree act this frightened in quite a while. It took a minute for Mccree to calm, his breathing was still quite heavy, almost panting, when he said breathily, “I know who ya are. Yer Gideon Price, the one that worked with Ashe there for a while.” Gideon didn’t smile, he only nodded, and watched with his stone cold, purple eyes. 

Mccree had calmed down slightly more and looked from Angela, and then to Gideon, “Yeah, when I seen Ashe at the ol’ Route 66, she said somethin’ about only fearin’ one person in th’ entire world, and he’s standin’ right in front’a me.” Angela set her gaze on Gideon and inquired, “Is this true?” He simply nodded, “I was in an alliance with the Deadlock gang for about six to seven months. I had heard through the grapevine that one of the most feared gangs resided in Route 66, and I heard that their leader was a strong, powerful, and intelligent woman. It piqued my interest, so I went down there on foot-” 

“On foot! Where’d ya come from?” Mccree interrupted, hissing from the pain of yelling. His voice was starting to recover. “I was coming in from Europe,” Mccree’s mouth gaped, “How’d ya get there on foot then?” Gideon shrugged nonchalantly, “I walked across the water. Only took me 30 minutes to get there.” He said, as if it was an everyday thing. Angela and Mccree’s faces were frozen with shock as he continued, “Anyways, when I got there I immediately noticed the remote bombs on a railroad about 3 to 5 miles ahead of me, and when I saw that, I knew I had the right gang.” Gideon shifted his right leg so it rested on the left’s knee. “I walked about 2 miles when all of a sudden I hear a loud bang!” He yelled, making Mccree and Angela jump from their seats. Mccree hissed from the sudden movement. 

“Then I heard a crash and loud, groaning metal sounds. That’s when I heard two voices: one with a higher pitched southern drawl and the other had the same accent but lower tone.” His voice was deep and low. 

“At this point, I was around 30 or so feet away from them just a little bit in front of Big Earl’s,” Gideon noticed Mccree’s face light up at the mention of the familiar gas station. “So I could see Ashe and Mccree arguing. They were arguing about a crate that Ashe had just loaded up onto their payload, and when Mccree refused to let Ashe see what was in the crate, that was when the fight started.” 

Mccree and Angela were silent as they were tranced by his story like children listening to their Grandpa tell an old tale, “When the fight ended, B.O.B ended up without a head on his shoulders, Ashe ended up tied up to her payload, and Mccree ended up with Ashe’s bike.” He almost chuckled, “Anyways, when Mccree had departed, I decided to untie Ashe from her bonds, and that was when the alliance was formed.” 

The room was silent when his story ended, and Gideon waited patiently. The silence was on the edge of awkward when Mccree finally spoke, “So, lemme git this straight, ya walked across the water from Europe and ended up in ol’ Route 66 in 30 minutes?” Gideon nodded, “Yeah, that’s right. It takes longer to take a plane.” 

“You never told me you could walk across water,” Angela mumbled. “You didn’t ask. You see, I’m a ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ kind of guy, but I don’t lie because my memory isn’t the greatest.” His expression remained lazy.

Gideon isn’t very good at determining whether or not information is relevant or not when he talks to people, his social skills were quite abysmal compared to others, so conversation usually ended with an awkward goodbye. The ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ philosophy was a very good solution to that shortcoming. At least in his opinion it was. 

“What’s going to happen to me?” He heard Angela curse in her native language, “Well, I would have to speak to Winston about that. I looked your name up, but you’re not in the records…” She trailed off. Mccree looked towards Gideon, “ Reckon Winston’ll probably make ‘em an agent. I mean, the man can walk on water, that ain’t an opportunity Winston’s gonna pass up.” He said, completely ignoring Angela’s last inquiry. Gideon...Actually liked the sound of that. It was always an idea of his to go legit, to kill for the good, instead of the bad. He liked the idea way more than he thought he should. “Whaddya say, Gideon?” He didn’t force down the grin that appeared on his face, “Let’s do it.” 

There were multiple things Gideon had to do before he became an agent of Overwatch. Something that completely caught him off guard, for some reason. He should’ve been expecting the paperwork and physical. Winston had said that he would enthusiastically give Gideon the okay, if he cleared his physical and the paperwork was acceptable. He would give Gideon the procedure of an after-agent once he had become an agent. He didn’t want to get Gideon’s hopes up, he said, but he had confidence that he would pass everything. Gideon trusted that, which was saying a lot, since he scarcely expressed trust. 

Gideon hadn’t gotten a room for himself yet, so he had to do the paperwork in Angela’s medical bay. She gave him her office in the back left side of the med bay. She said she didn’t mind, but Gideon instinctively thought himself a burden because of how much space he took up in the small room. He didn’t dare touch, move, or read anything without Angela’s permission. 

Mccree continued to chat with Angela and occasionally asked Gideon for his opinion on a certain topic that he and Angela were arguing about. He gave a grunt or a light hum to signal he was listening, but wasn’t going to approve or disapprove of the topic.  
He finished the mountainous paperwork in a little over an hour, which was a pleasant surprise to Winston. The physical would be done the next morning, “First thing on my schedule,” Angela had said. She knew he wanted to leave as soon as he could, since any agent could walk in, and end up with the same fate as Mccree. Speaking of, Mccree was released the night of when Gideon punched him, which was a relief to Gideon. If someone else was in the room with him, his instincts wouldn’t let him sleep at all. 

When the lights were turned off, and Angela had said goodnight, he shut his eyes, but he knew sleep wouldn’t be visiting for very long. 

Two hours later, his consciousness returned, but his eyes didn’t open. His worn-out body not wanting to move, but his conscious screaming at him to do something other than nothing. An idea of exploring the rest of the building sparked in his mind, but he knew he couldn’t quite do that, yet. Some night owl could be wandering the halls for some reason God only knows. He did the only thing he could do. 

He begrudgingly got out of the medical bed and began pacing with his thumb and forefinger rubbing and scratching his beard in thought, and occasionally threaded his fingers in brown hair. The sound of his gray sneakers tapping against the marble floor lulled him to a trance, thinking of every little thing he could think of. He fell asleep with his clothes on, he noticed. That was a common occurrence for him. He never did it for any reason, he was usually too tired to take them off before he fell asleep. He played with his white hoodie strings, his beard, and his hair as he continued to think and pace. 

Angela found an interesting sight, when she entered her office at 7:30 in the morning exactly. She found Gideon pacing around her office, twirling a white hoodie string with his forefinger and murmuring quietly to himself about things Angela couldn’t hear. Angela froze, she needed to be very careful here. The last time she interrupted his sleep he had almost killed her with a punch so close it brushed against her nose. She took advantage of the moment to re-evaluate his appearance.

He still wore the same casual clothes, a bright orange hoodie that could probably be seen for miles, with white hoodie strings and a white zipper. His face, as of now, was pale and determined. He had a brown, thick beard that reached to his sideburns. He walked with a curve in his back, making Angela physically cringe. He seemed like a stoic man, hell, that’s almost how all men were, Angela knew. His shoulders were broad, but at the same time he was tall and skinny, but she couldn’t really tell because of his poor posture. He had gray sweatpants with matching colored sneakers with white shoe laces. Angela has never seen someone have such a relaxed attire, yet act so uptight. She shouldn’t be judging, really, she was a medical doctor, not a judge. The man was of few words, but yesterday didn’t prove that, since he was really the only talking. Maybe it was because he was rapidly building trust for Angela and Mccree. 

She cleared her throat to get his attention, but he still remained in his pacing and murmuring session. What is he thinking about that’s got him in such a trance, Angela thought. She almost envied his concentration. She cleared her throat louder than the first and the reaction was instantaneous. 

She watched with amusement as he physically jumped from the sudden noise, snapping his gaze onto hers in less than a second. It took every fiber of her being not to laugh, but was quickly suppressed by the sudden feeling of fear and intimidation. The man stood at full height, eyes completely drained to gray from their original purple. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, as Angela gently shut the door behind her. Luckily, he didn’t yelp from surprise, more attention drawn would’ve made the situation worse. She doubted it would’ve drawn much, since it was still quite early in the morning. 

Gideon was due for a physical at 9:00, but she supposed she could move it to 8:30 since he was already awake. 

It took great effort to ignore his threatening and gray gaze, as she busied herself with getting her equipment ready for the physical. He soon sat back down on the medical bed with a slouched posture, resting his palms upward on his lap, and his eyes soon returned to their almost black purple. 

“Don’t do that shit,” He said breathily. Angela smiled warmly as she began unpacking her scales and other medical equipment. “You were in a trance, and I needed to get through to get ready for your physical.” She heard a muffled but dramatic groan behind her, which made the smile on her face stretch even closer to her eyes. “Did you almost forget about it?” She heard him groan again, “Yeah, I did for a moment there. Had other things on my mind, as you could tell.” This time, Angela chuckled lightly. Gideon heard it, making a smile almost creep up onto his blank face that was currently full of soft pillow, but he stifled it. The room remained in a comfortable silence, excluding the sounds of untangling cords and the quiet sound of Angela’s murmuring.

He didn’t know why, but Angela made him almost smile a lot more than before he came here. He wasn’t complaining, he found the woman quite enjoyable to be around. 

It was around 8:27 (according to the digital clock next to Gideon), when Angela finally finished prepping for Gideon’s physical, which granted her an extra three minutes to have a coffee and make small talk to Gideon. When she finally turned her attention to Gideon, though, she found a sight that instantly made her lips stretch in a grin. 

The man was laying in probably the most uncomfortable position she had ever seen. He was laying stomach first with his feet propped up on the foot of the medical bed, face-first in the white pillow. Angela had no idea how he had remained in that position for an hour. “I’ll just be going down the hall now for some coffee. Did you want anything?” She asked with a chuckle and a grin. Gideon held his hand up behind his back, still face-first in the pillow, “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” The words were so muffled by the pillow she almost didn't hear them. She chuckled again, “Alright, holler if you need anything,” She said, and went out into the hallway, careful not to slam the door behind her. 

She took a right to the small dining room with a wide grin still lingering on her face. Luckily, she didn’t find anyone else there, only found the coffee machine and the proper ingredients. She sat down at the dining table as she waited for her coffee to finish. Gideon’s company had been quite amusing so far, except for when he punched Mccree in his face and when she scared him nearly to death when she walked in, but other than that, it’s been great. Maybe he wasn’t as uptight as she thought. She found herself slowly taking a liking to the man, but it was nothing more than that, just a developing friendship and nothing else, she told herself. 

She returned to the medical bay with two styrofoam cups of coffee, one with french vanilla creamer and extra sugar for her and one black for Gideon. She was fully expecting him to still be in that same position from when she left, but was surprised when she found him sitting with his legs crossed beneath him and his elbows resting on his knees. 

He was currently leaning forward, so much so his nose almost brushed with the fabric of the medical bed’s white sheets. He was kissing his knuckles as he stared intently at the sheets. He wasn’t murmuring, which was a good sign. The man was thinking again, so Angela called out gently, “Gideon?” Angela didn’t realise how taut her muscles were until he leaned back and stared into her blue eyes with his purple ones. 

His eyes glistened in the light as she handed him his cup, and she pulled up a chair and sat. He expressed his appreciation and began sipping greedily from the cup. He hummed from the excellent taste, which made Angela feel a sense of pride. Gideon hadn’t had coffee this good since, well, never. The coffee he made in his safehouse was usually bitter and watery. The coffee here was tasteful and thick. 

“You know, I asked for you not to get me coffee...” He scolded hollowly. Angela smiled mischievously, “From the noises I’m hearing, I don’t think you mind at all.” He let a small smile stretch across his otherwise blank face. This noticeably caught Angela off guard when her head suddenly jerked to the right. Gideon noticed this with a sense of glee, but at the same time wasn’t proud of the fact that he was slowly but surely exposing her vulnerabilities. He shuffled himself so his back was against the wall, his legs still propped on the foot of the bed. He did this to give her space, he knew what it was like when people were too close. He was extra careful not to spill anything on the medical bed or himself. He held the coffee with his right hand and rested it against his leg and continued conversation with her. 

“Yeah, guess you could say that. It tastes quite nice.” He complimented. She felt the pride within her swell again, and she sighed with content, “Thank goodness for that, I didn’t know what kind of coffee you liked, so I had to guess.” She said. The left side of his lips twitched upward, Angela noticed. She knew by then that that was a very common version of his smile. She continued with that in mind, “What time did you get up?” Judging from the bags under his eyes, he hadn’t slept very well. He rubbed his beard with his left thumb and forefinger, “Uh, when did you leave?” Angela blinked surprised slightly by how fast he responded, “I left at around seven last night, why?” That same twitch in his lips happened again, but this time, it didn’t go up. “I woke up two hours later. My instincts don’t let me sleep any longer. If I stand still for too long my instincts scream at me to get moving,” Angela checked the digital clock. 8:30, it read. It was time to start the physical. She got up from her chair next to the medical bed, “Hold that thought.” She said, and hastily grabbed her clipboard. 

Gideon looked around in slight confusion, “Uh, what?” Angela was smiling when she returned with her clipboard, “It’s time for your physical.” Angela said with excitement. To her amusement, the man slid down the medical bed, rested his legs on the foot of the bed, and instantly fell backwards into the pillow with a whump, and a loud, over-dramatic groan. Angela felt air brush against her face, influencing her lips to stretch into an eye-reaching grin. The sensation of a laugh started to bubble within her, “Did you forget again?” She asked on the verge of laughing out loud. He grunted in approval, making Angela laugh in a way she hadn’t in a very long time. She was too busy laughing to notice, but Gideon was grinning like a fool as he listened to her. 

Her stomach was weak when she finally calmed, “Alright, let’s get serious here. We’ll start with smoking.” She sat next to the medical bed, and crossed her legs, resting the clipboard on her thigh, she asked with a smile on her face, “Do you smoke?” 

“Negative.” She began scribbling.

“Have you ever taken any type of unprescribed drug?”

“No, impairs my senses. Plus, I’ve seen what it does to lives, it doesn’t look fun.”

“Any prescribed ones?”

“No.”

“Do you drink any alcoholic beverages?”

“No, again, it impairs my senses.” He sat up, shuffled again so his back was against the wall, and hugged his right knee.

“Ok, how well do you sleep?” 

“Not very well, instincts always scream at me to keep moving whenever I stand still for too long. My body is exhausted, but my conscious isn’t. But at the same time, it is.” He explained again deeply. 

That will be a problem, Angela thought after the effects of his over-dramatic stunt wore off. He may not have the energy to do the training or any of the physically exhausting missions that he will have to participate in. 

She hugged the clipboard to her chest, “We could try some sleeping pills. How does that sound?” He inhaled, “To be honest, I’ve never tried them before. Maybe it’ll help.” He breathed. He extended his knee out again, and slid down from the wall and back onto bed again. He lay down with his hands behind his head on the soft pillow beneath him with a relieved groan. 

Angela was already signing the prescription at her desk, when she suddenly thought of something. I don’t even know how old he is, she thought. There’s probably a lot things you don’t know about him, and a lot of it, you probably don’t want to know, a voice in her head was telling her. Yet, the curious and mischievous side of her brain was telling her to keep pushing for information.

She refrained from asking, for now, “This is eszopiclone. It should help you fall asleep and stay asleep for a full night’s rest. Take it eight to nine hours before you fall asleep every other night,” She explained while walking over to him with the prescription for the sleeping pills in her hand. He took the prescription and asked “Will I will be able to sleep without it?” She smiled reassuringly, “Well, what we’re going to do is take it for the full course of the prescription and try and devise a solution in that time period. But, we have to be careful, taking too much can lead to a dependence, so that’s why you’re only taking it every other night.” She explained with excitement brimming on her voice. 

He looked up at her like he was expecting her to continue, “You have something on your mind, I can tell.” He said with confidence. Angela chuckled, and blushed, caught red handed, “Am I really that obvious?” His lips twitched upward, as he said frankly, “Yes, you are. Well, if it were any other person they probably wouldn’t’ve noticed.” He said with thick arrogance. Angela returned to the side of the medical bed, but she sat against the wall instead of in the chair. She sighed, “I suppose I should ask you,” She stared down at her shoes in obvious discomfort, blond strands of hair dangling in front of her face, “I was wondering how old you were.” She murmured so quietly that if Gideon’s hearing wasn’t so trained, he would’ve missed it. She looked back up at Gideon, who had an amused expression on his face that made Angela feel like she was caught misbehaving as a teenager.

There was a shine in his purple eyes as he answered, “I could tell you, but you’re not going to believe me.” Angela felt her whole body relax, breathing a sigh of relief, her curiosity piqued as she asked, “Really? Trust me, I have heard everything.” Angela didn’t know if her eyesight was tricking her, but she swore she could see slight mischief glisten in his purple eyes. “Well, just know that I am extremely old, and have seen some shit, alright?” Angela furrowed her brow, “But how old are you?” Still pushing. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out,” He said, “Now, is the physical almost done?” Noticeably changing the subject. She wanted to push the matter, but thought better of it. This man could walk across water like Jesus, there was no telling what he would do if he was pushed too hard about an uncomfortable matter.

“Yes, only question now is how are you with needles?” Angela had barely finished her sentence when his eyes suddenly widened and drained from their natural purple, to their terrified gray, like when she had interrupted his trance. He scrambled to the back wall, his knuckles glowing white from how hard he was gripping the railings. He ignored how violently the bed shook with his sudden movement. He froze there, back practically glued to the wall, breathe much heavier than normal, almost gasping. “I’ll take that as a no, then?” As soon as she let the words slip, she instantly covered her mouth. She thought them inappropriate. Joking at a time like this definitely didn’t say much about your doctor. 

When his breathing finally calmed a small bit, he said breathily, “We do not talk about needles around me. Those things are one of the only things that really terrify me, that, and an ambush. The topic of needles should not come up when I’m around, for the whole building’s sake.” the threat unfazed her, and she almost thought his words rude. Who was he making demands like that? But she had never seen such a severe case of trypanophobia before. It piqued her interest, so she let it slide. 

The color of his eyes soon relaxed back to their purple. The sound of Gideon’s deep breathing was the only sound in the room, making Angela slightly uncomfortable. She had gotten used to morbid sound of his voice, but now the cold look of his gaze was sending chills up her spine. She refused to look back into it, “Alright, then we’ll just do the height and weight checks.” She was excited for the former, the earlier emotions completely forgotten. It’s funny how the human brain can forget moments like that in an instant when something more interesting came along. Anyways, she knew his height was abnormal, judging from the encounter they had earlier. Which wasn’t saying much, since everything about the man was abnormal. 

“The scales are right over here,” He obliged with a nod, and took his time getting out of the medical bed. He briskly walked his way over, clearly impatient for the end of the physical. His posture is curved severely when he walks over, which makes Angela cringe internally. When he steps on the scales, Angela notices that even when he’s bending down she still only reaches his chest. “Can you stand up straight for me, please?” When he does, his back makes a series of pops and crack and Angela feels like she’s looking up at a skyscraper. She now only reaches up to the lower half of his midsection, almost face-to-face with the crotch of his gray sweatpants. “Mein Gott, you go past my height scale. How tall are you exactly?” It should’ve been easy to estimate, since the height of the room was eleven feet, and the space between his head and the ceiling was about a foot tall. “I’m around nine to ten feet tall,” She held her clipboard with her left hand and covered her mouth with her right, “You know, you’ve now set the record for my tallest patient.” Angela said with glee. He grunted, “Excellent, now you get to go brag to your medical friends about your most recent patient’s height.” Angela couldn’t hold back the grin that stretched across her face from his sarcasm. 

Even with his height, Gideon still only weighed 247 pounds, which was quite impressive for a man of his stature. When he first learned this, he nodded like he was expecting it.

“Alright, let’s move on then. I can’t really check your CO2 levels, so we’ll move on to your eyes.” More excitement blossomed within her. His eyes fascinated her ever since she first saw them in this room. She gestures for him to stand next to the bed, as she brings out some equipment so she can examine his eyes. Gideon watched with light amusement. She drags a chair in front of Gideon, and he takes a seat just in front of the foot of the medical bed. His purple eyes conveyed no perceivable emotion. They were so deep in purple Angela couldn’t see where the pupil was. 

His eyes reflected the bright light overhead, “Your eyes check out, but I noticed something earlier,” She paused, and stood from her chair, and began packing up the optical equipment, “I noticed that your eyes change color based on your mood. Does it only occur whenever the emotions are intense, or can they be very slight for it to occur?” Gideon looked at his right foot, avoiding Angela’s gaze. He was acting like he was about to say something he doesn’t just say to anybody, which made Angela feel warmth in her chest. “Well, you know how sometimes people can look pale if they’re nervous or scared or sick, right?” She nodded, glad and flattered that he was finally explaining his abnormal eyes. She sat back down in the seat next to him, “My body doesn’t do that, so it does it through my eyes,” He shifted so his right foot was under the crook of his knee. Angela physically cringed at the way the curve in his back made his chest lean forward, but waited patiently for him to continue. 

“You got anymore tests to do?” And it was like a large audience within her groaned. Angela smiled warmly, despite unfairly feeling let down. He would explain things at his own pace, she reassured herself, “Yes, we need to check your reflexes and your blood pressure,” She got up from her chair, making a loud, high pitched scratching noise against the floor. She saw Gideon visibly cringe, “Don’t worry, the blood pressure doesn’t require any needles.” She said, as she grabbed the blood pressure cuff in the back office. She sat back down in the chair, “Could you roll up your sleeve for me, please?” He obliged, exposing biceps that were the same size as Mccree’s. Impressive, she thought, impotent to stop the light blush that dusted her cheeks. She wrapped the cuff just above the crook of his arm without protest from Gideon. His blood pressure checked out.

She removed the cuff, “Now, we’ll test your reflexes.” She said, getting up from the chair once again and returning with a small, wooden mallet. Where the hell was she getting all of this equipment? Gideon asked himself. “Could you pull up both pant legs for me, please?” He obliged, pulling his sweatpants legs just below his knee. His legs were quite pale, contrasting with the strands of dark hair. She hadn’t even tapped his knee yet, before his whole leg kicked out, narrowly missing Angela’s stomach. She looked up into his face and didn’t detect a slight sign of embarrassment like she was expecting. 

She tried the other knee, the same thing occurred. She did this with his arms, as well, with the same result as the knees. She stood with a sigh, “Well Gideon, I can tell you without a doubt that you’ve passed, but I’ll have to keep you from missions until we get your sleeping pattern under control. Other than that, I should have the report out by today.” Gideon nodded, “Thanks Angela, but I’ll have to stay here until Winston gets your report.” Angela nodded in understanding, but not without a slight feeling of exhilaration blossoming in her chest. She forced it out of her voice with great effectiveness, “I suppose you will, since Winston hasn’t really given you a room, yet.” The bags under Gideon’s eyes looked more prominent than ever, “Do you want anything to drink?” 

“No, ‘s fine.” He slurred. He laid his head down on the pillow, groaning from the effort and the relief, he rested his feet at the foot of the medical bed, and slept like a baby for the first time in many, many years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I just love developing characters. We've officially hit the 22 page mark. Anyways, thanks for reading.


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